


Strange Devils

by maokitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Sam/Reader/Dean throuple endgame, Smut, fix-it for canon's egregious cultural appropriation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-05 10:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maokitty/pseuds/maokitty
Summary: You never asked for these powers. One day, you just woke up with nine tails, magic powers, and a strange craving for human livers. The only other way for a fox spirit to feed is to seduce human men and snack on their life energy. You guess it's a little more ethical than eating livers, so that's generally what you do.On a cross-country quest to steal back one of your tails from a thieving witch, you have the misfortune of trying to prey on a man who turns out to be Dean Winchester. Cue a series of unfortunate but hilarious events.





	1. 一

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for checking out this fic! Just a heads up that this features a reader who is an Asian fox spirit (kitsune in Japan, huli jing in China, kumiho in Korea). As a result, the reader is necessarily at _least_ part Asian, because I'm not going to do the cultural appropriation & whitewashing nonsense that SPN did with its kitsune episode. Incidentally, please enjoy this take on the fox spirit myth from an actual Asian, because SPN really didn't do it justice. 
> 
> Hope this all sits well with you. Enjoy!

"Ni Hao."

"I don't speak Mandarin."

For a few moments, you and the shopkeeper stare at each other in silence. The seconds tick by; his eyes are blank, yours are flat. If you were him, you'd probably be dying of embarrassment right now. But he recovers, his blue eyes crinkling sheepishly. 

"Oops, sorry miss. I just thought—“

"Easy mistake," you say, offering him an out. You just want your drink and to leave. You smile stiffly as you pass him a few coins, reminding yourself that this is just how people are sometimes. They've never met someone who looks like you. They don't know what's acceptable and what's not.

It isn't your favourite thing to do—to linger in small towns, where you stick out so much, where you tend to be a novelty. You don't like the double takes, the lingering stares at a funny-looking newcomer. Even if you didn't have a bigger secret to hide, you'd still hate the scrutiny. No one likes feeling alienated.

The minute you walk outside, the sunglasses slip on. You're practically hiding behind them, but you can't help but look down. People can still see your nose, your lips, your skin tone. If you were a little older, a bit better with magic, you suppose you could just change your appearance to blend in better—but then again, that would come with some unsavoury political implications. It's not your fault that you don't look like them. You shouldn't have to change yourself.

You don't even want to be here anyway. If only that fucking witch hadn't stolen your fucking _tail._

As you open the car door and slip in, sighing at the boiling, concentrated heat of Kansas summer, you consider your situation. You'd never _asked _for these powers you've inherited, one day simply waking up to find nine tails on your lower back and a sudden hunger for indiscriminate sex and human livers. You didn't ask for the strange influence on other people's emotions either, the unwanted attention and uncontrollable thirst from strangers. 

And you hadn't asked for all the hunters and witches on your ass. 

"That's just puberty for you," your mother had offered simply over dinner when you'd brought it up.

"Who grows _tails_ during puberty?!" You remember shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to adjust the sleek, golden furs behind you. Why were nine tails even necessary? Just one would do.

Your mom had just ignored you, continuing on. The words had rolled out in her mothertongue: "Fox spirits do." 

_Huli jing. Kitsune. Kumiho._ The stuff of myths, random bedtime stories from Mom. College hadn't prepared you for this.

"The fuck, mom?"

"_Language,"_ she'd snapped immediately. "Ladies shouldn't talk like that."

Fucking of course your mom would still uphold her traditional values, even as she told you that you'd now have to enchant and have sex with men for the purpose of feeding off their energy. It was either that or eat their livers and hearts. 

Well, you were half-human in addition to being half-fox. Cannibalism wouldn't do. Probably ladies shouldn't gorge themselves on human livers anyway.

So here you are, in dead Kansas heat, beads of sweat rolling off your skin and something even sicklier in your belly. You haven't picked anyone up in ages. You've been shoveling burgers down your throat for the whole duration of this road trip, and you're still _starving._ Red meat just isn't the same as a man's life energy, you guess. 

On this mission to get back your tail, you've had no time to properly feed. Maybe it's time to hit up a bar tonight, you think as you sip on your drink. Fox tails are rare and precious. That witch won't be using it for a while. 

Maybe you can wait another day before catching him.

* * *

The bar is dimly lit. Some game is playing in the background, muffled by the rock blasting on the speakers and the easy chatter from the locals. You sit at the bar, watching people pass by out of the corner of your eye. You aren't feeling it with most of them. You're hungry, but you still have _standards._

But then the door opens, and suddenly there are two _delicious_ men walking through it. They're definitely not from around here either, decked out in suits and with a sharp edge to their posture that's suggestive of combat or service. _Maybe feds?_ you think idly. That witch had committed a pretty nasty murder, maybe something that would catch the interest of the FBI. 

Well, maybe they're feds, maybe not. They're 100% snacks. _Dinner. _Your eight hidden tails flick a little, and you know your eyes are flashing gold. You send a little charm in their direction, and they're unwitting, heading your way without even knowing it. 

They're tall, you notice. _Virile_, you sense. There's strong energy emanating from them both, and it smells like a freshly baked pie. One of them is _comically_ good-looking, with neat hair and a square jaw and almost pouty lips. The other one is taller and broader and cute in a puppyish way, with hair that falls into his face. Pretty charming. But he's not looking at you the way that Mr. Calvin Klein Model is.

Calvin Klein Model sits a seat away from you, puts up two fingers and orders a drink for himself and Tall Dark And Handsome. You don't miss the way he glances toward you, eyes gleaming with interest. Your tails flick again, and you try not to salivate. Wow, you are going to have a _feast_ tonight. You knock back the rest of your drink, and place the empty glass loudly on the table, movement precise with intent.

"That any good?" you ask, nodding at the drink set in front of Calvin Klein Model. You point at your empty glass. "Gotta order drink #2."

"No you don't," he says, then he orders for you. Whatever he's having. 

"Oh… thank you!" 

He flashes you a smile, and _wow_, he's even cuter up close. Maybe he's got some fox spirit blood in him too, you think dryly. 

"Don't thank me," he says. "My pleasure." The new drink slides in front of you, and Calvin Klein Model raises his glass. "Cheers."

It's better than your last drink, thank fuck. 

Calvin Klein Model is named Dean Duchovny, and Tall Dark And Handsome, who's off working the pool table, is named Sam Anderson. They _are_ Feds, currently in town to deal with the case of the mysteriously exsanguinated babysitter. 

"Absolutely horrible," you say, a little gasp in your voice. Of course, it's nothing in comparison to what _you'll_ do to that witch after you get your hands on him, but Dean doesn't need to know that. He gives you a handsome, reassuring look, his immaculately shaped jaw tense. He moves over a seat, leans in so you can clearly hear his gravelly voice.

"You don't have to worry, Miss. We'll catch the guy."

You smile fondly. How cute. This agent thinks he can catch a witch. But you play up the scared damsel bit, knowing he'll fall for it: "Do you think it'll happen again? Is that why the FBI is on this case?"

"I can't reveal any details," he says. "But I can assure you that you'll be safe."

"I'm glad." You look at him with scared, doe eyes. Men love this shit. With this expression, you don't even need to turn on the fox spirit charm. There's no greater magic than heteronormative dating scripts. "I just don't feel safe walking to my motel with all these things happening, you know," you add for good measure.

"Well, I'd be happy to walk you back tonight. To keep you safe, of course." You've only known him for half an hour, but you already know that only Dean Duchovny could pull off _such_ a bad line. You swoon, and you try to look unironic about it.

"Well, I'd really appreciate that..." 

The two of you chat idly, and he asks why you're passing through town. You make up some bullshit about needing time to yourself after a nasty breakup, going on a nice road trip, and he listens sympathetically. ("What a jerk!" he exclaims, appalled at your imaginary ex. "I can't believe he'd take you for granted like that! Dumb bastard didn't deserve you." His indignation sounds earnest, and it's adorable.) 

You later deflect by asking him why he joined the FBI. You get the hunch that he's making up some bullshit too—it’s hard to trick a trickster spirit—but you think nothing of it. Whatever motivates someone to sign up for Silence of the Lambs must be pretty personal.

You end up leaving the bar with Agent Duchovny. He'll indeed take you home, though he points out that his motel is on the way. He turns back before the two of you walk through the doors, calling to his partner: "Sammy! Taking the Impala with me. Gotta make sure she gets home safe, you know!" You catch him winking.

Sam does a bit of a deadpan. "Yeah, _sure_." You giggle at the tone and give a little wave. You're not working your magic on Sam right now, but he seems caught off-guard for a moment, staring. He waves back, calling out, "You get home safe." 

"You too." You resist the urge to blow a kiss. Too bad you didn't snag them both for tonight. 

But as soon as you turn back to Dean, you think you've done pretty well for yourself. 

* * *

When you look back on it, you wonder if it's the dog that did it. 

He's tied up outside the bar, waiting for his owner. He's a golden lab and absolutely adorable: floppy ears, an open mouth like a smile, puppy dog eyes, the whole shebang. Before your powers had manifested, you'd loved playing with dogs. But now that you reek of fox spirit, they won't come near you, and that includes this one.

Old Yeller basically loses it, starting to growl and bark at you. He looks like he's about to start foaming at the mouth, shivering with rage. Dean lifts a brow.

"Whoa, girl! What's the matter?" 

"It's a boy," you remark instantly. It smells like a male, anyway. Dean approaches it carefully, trying to look non-threateningly. The dog relaxes, watching him quietly. 

"Good boy," Dean says, scratching him behind the ears. "You're fine! Spooked by nothing."

Actually, Old Yeller was spooked by the ostensibly malevolent and definitely ravenous fox spirit in its midst. If you were a dog, you'd be scared of you too. But you don't say that to Dean, just smiling mildly.

"You're so good with him. Got a dog of your own?"

"Nah. I just… get along with them real well." 

"Oh yeah? Dog whisperer?"

"You could say that. There've been times I felt like I could really… talk to them." The corner of Dean's mouth lifts up; you can tell he's trying not to laugh at something, but he doesn't elaborate.

You glance at the pup, and as soon as the two of you make eye contact, he's back to snarling. Smiling dryly, you ask Dean, "Could you ask him to back down? _Bah ram ewe_ it that I'm not dangerous?"

Dean whistles at the animosity from the dog. He pushes at the small of your back, beckoning you away. 

"Let's not risk that tonight, hm?" Dean seems almost thoughtful. "I'm supposed to get you home safe, and dogs just don't really warm up to certain people. And things._"_

* * *

As soon as you're in his room, the two of you are on each other. His lips taste like whiskey but you don't care, because they're chapped but soft and feel so good against your mouth. His hands are on you, one on your lower back and one on your leg, and you can feel how strong they are. _Mmm,_ this'll be a good meal. Your tongue lingers against his lips, and now they taste like apple pie. 

When the two of you fall into bed together, you're eagerly working on his buttons. The cloth parts, and you slide your hands into his skin, pushing the dress shirt back. He's flawless and his hands are perfect on your legs, one of them squeezing your thigh, and you can't _wait_ to see him with his shirt off. And oh _shit, _he has a tattoo. You lick your lips, wondering what it'll look like on his bare torso—

Hold on.

That’s an anti-possession symbol.

Oh, _fuck._

You pull back, and Dean opens his eyes.

"Somethin' wrong?"

"Not at all," you reassure him, voice honey-sweet. Inside, you're shitting bricks. "I just love a good tattoo, you know?" Your finger traces the black lines of the pentagram. _Yep_, that's definitely for repelling demons. _Yep,_ you're definitely pinned beneath a hunter. 

You push a bit at Dean, and he sits up without resistance. 

"Gonna freshen up a bit first," you explain before kissing him long and deep. You have to convince him that nothing's wrong…

"Don't take too long," he says, voice husky, giving you Calvin Klein Ad-worthy bedroom eyes. Does he know that he constantly looks like he's pouting?

It's sad to walk away from the bed, but you make yourself do it anyway. Mama may have raised you without preparing you for devilhood, but she still didn't raise no fool. You aren't going to mess with a hunter. And also, she would have killed you if she knew you'd someday seduce one. He's definitely not family dinner material.

_Shit, shit, shit._ The linoleum tile is smooth against your socks. You won't be able to grab your shoes before shoving yourself through this window. You have a moment of silence for your Louboutins. You'll have to charm some other sucker into buying you another pair later, but you _liked_ these ones.

_Focus. There are more important things going on!_

Your eyes narrow as you scrutinize the small opening of the window. Will you even fit in it? Maybe you could transform into your fox form, you think, but then your eight tails might get stuck in the small frame anyway.

"Well," you grumble dryly. "Here I go, I guess. No dinner tonight." 

You climb onto the toilet, and you grab onto the window. Grunting, you wiggle gracelessly through the frame, metal digging into your sides. 

Fuck it all. Fuck this town. Fuck that witch. 

When you finally get through and land on the grass beneath the window, you hear a loud click. 

Your heart practically stops. 

Your eyes meet the end of a revolver. You peer down the barrel, and your nose twitches at the stench of silver. 

Tall Dark And Handsome gives you a tight smile, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Leaving so soon? What's the hurry?"


	2. 二

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those who liked and commented on chapter 1! :) Chapter 2 would not be here without you!
> 
> A lot of world-building exposition in this chapter! I really wanted to elaborate on the proper concepts of the fox spirit myths and make it accessible for non-Asian readers. Each detail is based on either the huli jing (especially with regard to the fear of dogs) and the kitsune (with respect to the warding against evil spirits). However, the eating of livers is based on the kumiho.

Your life flashes before your eyes. You can tell that Sam Anderson—if that’s even his real name—isn’t fucking around here. He’s ready to ice you, though you don’t even know how he managed to figure out your true nature. You left no clear signs, didn’t even get to bang his partner or steal his energy…

Huh.

Well, this is a desperate ploy, but here you go:

“_HELP!_” you shriek, face crinkling in fear. You don’t need to act. Silver won’t kill you, but it’ll hurt in the way that all gunshots hurt. “_HELP ME!_”

Your eyes start to water, and you can see Sam’s resolve wavering. Oh, hell _yes. _Your lower lip quivers, and you eke out, “Please don’t shoot me! I don’t know what I did wrong!” You screw your eyes shut. “Your partner had a pentagram on his chest… I just… _I just didn’t want to fuck a Satanist!”_

Sam pauses, listening to you sniffle. You crack open an eye, looking and feeling solidly miserable.

“Please don’t kill me.” You sound pathetic to your own ears. Sam falters, and for a second, _he’s _the one who looks like a kicked puppy.

The tense silence is broken by the bushes rustling, someone ungracefully knocking back branches as they approach you. “Ahah! There you are!” Somehow, Dean’s voice sounds raw and masculine even in this moment. You catch yourself wondering what it would sound like if you had just spent a little longer between the sheets with him, singing praises as you kissed your way down his torso… Wow, you’re about to die and still you're thirsty as fuck. Figures this is the way you would go.

Before you can admonish yourself more, you’re doused in cold liquid. Unprepared, you splutter and cough, eyes screwed shut and stinging.

“Ouch!”

“See!” Through watery vision, you see Dean jabbing a finger at you. “It hurts her! Demon!”

“It hurts because it got into my eyes, asshole!”

Sam sounds solidly unconvinced.

“Yeah, she’s not burning or anything. Hold on—”

Sam shifts and lifts up a small blade. Your squeeze your eyes shut. This is it—you’re about to be executed in the middle of nowhere by two hunters that are acting more like clowns. You don’t see a way out of this. You’re so hungry that you can’t think.

Sam crouches down, and you get an eyeful of that gorgeous bone structure. At least your last vision will be a good one. You breathe in, preparing yourself for the worst, and all you can think is that Sam smells fresh and a little smoky, like the outdoors. He’d probably taste like a lean cut of meat. Or maybe a good protein shake. You could use the vitamins. 

He presses the blade against your cheek, and… you aren't dead.

“Nothing, Dean. She’s probably not a monster.”

“Not all monsters are weak to silver,” Dean observes, but his voice is losing its edge. “Besides, you were convinced you saw her eyes glow back at the bar… and then that dog…”

"That was just an aggressive dog," you mumble.

“He was a good boy!” Dean protests. “He wouldn’t act that way around an innocent human. But dogs _do _react like that around monsters.”

“How would you even know that?” you ask, and you can’t help the dryness in your voice.

“He was a dog for a day,” Sam answers for him, so nonchalant that you know it can’t be a lie.

“…of course he was.”

Yes, you can see your headstone now: Beloved daughter, dumbass fox, got murdered by a pair of clowns.

But when you look up, you see an opportunity. The both of them look solidly hesitant now. They’re psychologically weak, and if fox spirits can do anything, it’s deluding weak men. Focusing, you direct your thoughts toward them, repeating an inner mantra—_Help me. I’m innocent. I’m vulnerable and you must protect me. Help me_—

Dean caves easily, entranced.

“We should let her go, Sammy—”

“_Look at her eyes,”_ Sam cuts in. His jaw tenses, and the gun is raised again. He’s so close that you can see up the barrel. “They’re flashing gold. Can’t you see?” He squints, and then his eyes widen. “Are those _tails? _What _are _you?”

You gape. He’s not bewitched. Your magic can’t hide your features from him, like you can from the other humans. 

“What am _I?_" you ask. "What are _you?_”

Confusion flashes in his eyes, but before he can answer, Dean knocks back the gun.

“Cool it, Sam!” he barks. “We have to let her go. Look at her! She’s innocent!”

Thank _fuck. _Dean’s a regular human.

“What the hell?” Sam’s expression twists. “What’s gotten into you? She’s clearly—” He stops. A switch flips, and Sam’s turned to you now. “_You’re _doing this. If you don’t stop it, I’ll really—”

Dean bowls into him, pins him down.

“I said lay off, Sam!” he growls. The two struggle, and you’re standing up, socks sinking into the mud as you begin to run. Your heart is pounding, your head feels light, you’re so _hungry _but you have to get away. Freedom lies ahead in the trees… they're getting closer, looming over you, the branches growling at you. 

Wait.

Trees don’t growl.

Out of nowhere, the golden lab pounces on you, vengeful. You bowl over, shrieking as he digs his claws into you. This is it for you. Dogs are the fatal weakness of fox spirits, an adorable kryptonite that you’ll never play with again. Death by Old Yeller. Your last thought as you finally pass out:

His owners should have filed down his nails. Jesus.

* * *

A popcorn ceiling floats above you. At the edge of your mind, voices ebb in and out like waves on a shore.

“…didn’t technically do anything wrong…”

“She mind-controlled you!”

“...could be innocent…”

“...could have exsanguinated… since when do_ you _like monsters? ...bet her magic hasn't faded yet...”

You groan, and the talking stops. Your body moves, tries to curl up onto its side, but a pain tears down your abdomen. You try to move your hands to cradle the wound knifing through you, but something stops you. There’s rope digging into your wrists.

Still out-of-your-mind hungry, you mumble, “This is some kinky shit…”

Dean pauses.

“Wow. You _really _need to get laid.”

“Is that news to you?” You turn your head to watch him dryly. “I wasn’t trying to hide it at the bar.”

“Yeah, but this is _Casa Erotica_ level frustration."

Even through the pain, you snort. “I haven’t fed in months. I’m _starving… _Can you blame me?”

“Ohoh! So that's your play.” Dean’s suddenly a lot less sympathetic. “Hook up and then snack on me? Well, now we know she’s evil. Let’s gank her.”

You scowl. “’m not a murderer…” you slur out. “I wouldn’t sap all your energy… you woulda have just slept for a couple of hours… or days.”

“A likely story!”

But the tables have turned. Sam’s sounding thoughtful now, and when you look at him, the tension’s drained from his face.

“I don’t think she’s lying, Dean. She’s too delirious.” He pauses. “…and if she hasn’t fed in months, she’s not the one who killed that babysitter.”

“Ugh, don’t mistake me for that witch.” The thought is enough to make your eyes harden, hatred sharpening your mind despite the hunger and pain. “I’m gonna kill him when I get to him…"

They’re both caught off-guard.

“How do you know it’s a witch?” Sam asks.

“Why’s a _monster _playing hunter?” Dean sounds incredulous.

“He stole my fucking tail!” It comes out as a pathetic whine. “I’m blowing all my vacation days to track him down… been going from shit town to shit town. I wanted to take my four weeks in Maui!” you whine.

Sam raises a brow. “You have a full time job?”

“I’m a white collar worker! I know it’s lame, but it’s all I know!” You scowl. “I was gonna bewitch a rich guy someday, live out the rest of my days as a trophy wife… but now you’re going to kill me instead. _Man…_”

Sam frowns, and from his expression, you can tell he’s clearly doing some sort of calculus. “What _are _you, exactly? You can work magic, but witches don’t have nine tails…”

“A siren?” Dean suggests. “She seduced me with her magic.”

“Barely used any,” you retort. “You’re a real ladies’ man, huh?”

Dean looks smug. “Well…”

Sam elbows him. “_Focus._” He turns back to you, seeming a bit impatient now. “You haven’t seriously wronged anyone. Tell us what you are. Cooperate. We don’t have to kill you.”

“Back to the monster sympathy again! _Jesus, _Sam! We’ve talked about this!"

“I thought that was all water under the bridge?"

"Yeah, Sam, that only works when people _learn from their mistakes._"

"We're really doing this again?”

“_Boys!” _you cut in. “Mind airing out the dirty laundry some other time?”

They go quiet.

“_Anyway… _I’m a fox spirit. _Kitsune, huli jing… kumiho_, but a little less malevolent than your average _kumiho_, at least according to the Korean myths.”

Dean’s eyes harden. “That settles it. We gotta gank her.” But for some reason, Sam’s reluctant now. For a brief moment, his eyes get that sad look again. Wow, he’s so adorable. He’s probably so sweet during sex, you can’t help but think. Forget smoothies; he’d taste like a nice dessert.

“I don’t know, Dean.” There’s sentiment to his voice, a distant quality that tells you that this isn’t about you.

“_Jesus_, you and your thing with kih-tsoo-nays—" You wince at Dean's pronunciation. "—Listen, I’m not gonna wait for her to snack on someone's pituitary glands!” 

“Hey!" you yell indignantly. "Don’t confuse me with those other shapeshifters.” Your lips tighten. “You’re thinking of our American cousins. We’re different. We don’t eat people’s pituitary glands.” There’s nothing less appealing to you than the thought of ripping someone’s face open for a tiny, bland, and pea-sized meal, in fact. “It’s true that some of us eat human livers, but I don’t. I’m ethical about what I eat. A vegetarian, if you will.”

Sam’s voice is remarkably flat. “A vegetarian monster?”

“Yeah. I don't eat human meat. I just need the life essence of a human man, taken during intercourse. Not enough to kill him; just enough to keep me full.”

Dean sounds thoroughly amused. “So you’re some kind of succubus? You're a vegan succubus?”

“Yeah, basically. All I need to do is ride some dick once in a while and I’m good to go.” Sam chokes; Dean's eyebrows are sky high. You look at the latter wistfully, your stomach still twisting in hunger. “We were gonna have so much fun. You look like a whole meal.”

“Sorry, didn't feel like being monster chow." Still, Dean looks a little pleased at the remark. Sam is the only one who's able to stay focused.

“So you’re saying that you’re harmless?" he asks. "You just want to catch this witch, and then you’re just going back to your, uh, office job?”

“Yeah.” You look at him beseechingly. “Let me go? You’re after this witch too, right? I can help you. Asian foxes do a lot more than our American counterparts.”

“Like what?” Sam’s curiosity is piqued. He seems genuinely interested in learning about this new kind of creature.

“We know some magic. Deceptive stuff, a bit like tricksters,” you supply. “In my fox form, I can fight. And I can shield you from certain other things while we hunt, too.”

“Shield us?” Dean’s now interested as well.

“Yeah. Benevolent foxes can ward off evil spirits. Ghosts and demons and the like. Happy to do it if you help me catch this witch.”

The two of them trade a look.

“No demons,” Dean remarks. “Pretty good deal.”

“Real good.” Sam asks, “You think you could ward off the King of Hell? Princes or Knights of Hell?”

“I’m young for a fox, so it’d be harder with powerful demons. But I’m like a walking talisman—they won't be able to find you very easily. And they’d have a harder time fighting me in my other form than they would with you.”

They turn around, conversing among themselves.

“…like the sound of that,” Dean admits. “No Crowley on our asses… no Knights of Hell…”

Sam nods. “And we have a common goal…”

“And if you ever need to relieve some stress,” you add faintly, “I’d be happy to oblige… I’m a wild ride in bed, you know. And I promise you'll never sleep better afterwards."

Dean turns to Sam, shrugging. “We only had a fifteen minutes together, but I know she ain’t lying about that."

Sam elbows him again, exasperated.

“_Focus!”_

“Okay, okay.” Dean raises up his hands. “Thinking with my head, I’m not sure we can trust her on a hunch. Especially not _your _hunch, given your track record.”

Sam scowls again. _Wow, _these two men really need to go to relationship counseling. This is way too much baggage for a fifteen minute conversation.

“What _else_ are we supposed to trust her on? We can't read her mind, Dean."

“Yeah, _we_ can't. Let’s call over Cas."

You cock a brow. "You got a psychic friend?"

"Not exactly," Sam fills in. "Castiel is an angel of the Lord."

"Angels are real?” Slowly, the cogs turn in your head, and your expression melts into a look of horror. “Oh my god, am I going to be smote? Please don’t make your angel friend smite me.” Your mother once said that some fox spirits eventually transcend to heaven, but somehow, you don’t think you would make that cut.

You swallow visibly. Sam’s mouth goes a little lopsided at your expression. He looks… entertained? “Don’t worry. Cas won’t hurt you.”

“Unless he figures that you should be hurt,” Dean corrects.

“I’m not!”

“Well, only one way to find out.” Dean looks up at the ceiling. “Hey, Cas! We could use you right now! Help us out here!”

The clock ticks. Nothing happens, and all three of you shift uncomfortably. Your eyes scan the room idly, and they land on your red-bottom heels. You really hope this angel will deem you worthy of life. You want those Louboutins back. 

Silently, you put in a prayer to the Judeo-Christian God: _Dear Lord, please do not smite me. I promise I will reform my ways. I will stop exploiting men for luxury fashion and only exploit them for their life essence. I know it still sounds sinful, but it’s the best I can do! Those Louboutins will be my last!_

“Maybe he’s busy,” Sam says, cutting into your desperate monologue.

But your hidden ears perk. There’s a rush of wind, a flapping of wings. You turn before either hunter notices the new presence in the room, your eyes sharp. There are shivers crawling up and down your spine, an animal fight-or-flight instinct that awakened with the rest of your powers. (“Spidey-sense”, you like to call it.)

“I have some spare time,” a new voice says. Just like the two hunters, it’s also low and gravelly and makes you feel something funny in your belly. Your thighs press together, and you have a thought bordering on suicide: would this angel be down for a one night stand? What does angel life essence taste like? Would it be the best meal—and night—of your life? Or would it just kill you?

“Yes,” Castiel answers, turning to you. You know he could dust you in less than a second, but wow, he's gorgeous: Victoria's Secret Angel of the Lord. “It would just kill you," he continues. "Yours is a vessel that cannot contain the grace of even a common angel.” 

You have no idea what grace is, but you’re too ravenous to care. The disappointment hits you like cold water. "Aw…"

Dean and Sam look back and forth between the two of you, bewildered. Castiel seems equally confused as he turns back to them.

“Sam, Dean, why do you have a fox spirit in your motel room? She may seduce you for your life energy, and then eat your liver. In that order, if you’re lucky.”

“Hey! I’m not into necrophilia!” You cringe at the thought. “Not like I can steal life energy from a corpse anyway!”

“Evil foxes are known to engage in unnecessary acts of violence.” 

“Is that it then? Is she evil?” Dean’s eyes harden, and the silent implication lingers.

Castiel studies you. “I can’t say for certain. I would have to...” 

—and he’s in front of you, apparently teleporting, and you squawk. Ignoring your tremble, he puts a hand on your forehead. You squeeze your eyes shut. This is it! Goodbye, world. 

Miraculously, your brains do not get blown out.

“...I do not sense malicious intent from this fox. Just fear. And a remarkable amount of lust. She very much wants to fornicate with you, Dean."

"Well, I don't blame her," Dean replies, just as you wail, "I'm hungry!" 

Castiel ignores both of you, continuing, “This spirit has never killed anyone. It’s a harmless trickster. A rather pedestrian fox devil, if you will.”

“Hey!" Some part of you knows that he's defending you, but you bristle anyway. "_You’re _pedestrian!” 

“Yes, I’m a common angel, just as you are a common fox.” He turns back to the two hunters, ignoring you. “I’m not sure of your plans with this creature, but you are free to untie her. I cannot promise she won’t disappear, though. If you like, you could trap her in this place.” 

You cringe, the claw marks in your abdomen still burning. There's only one way to ward against a fox spirit. “Please don’t do that," you beg. This time, the fearful doe eyes you give Dean are real. "I won’t go anywhere, promise.”

Dean hesitates, but still opts for caution. “How _would _we ward against a kih-tsoo-nay? Or whatever she is?"

Your face twists for a different reason.

“Please just call me a fox spirit. Your pronunciation is killing me. And you don't even know that I'm Japanese."

"Touché," Dean admits. "Alright, how do we trap Foxy here?"

Oh, you hadn't expected a nickname. It's kind of endearing. Your heart gives a funny, confusing jump, and you almost miss Castiel’s reply.

“...douse her in the urine of a great dog. Fox spirits abhor canines.”

Back to groveling it is, then. "Please don't do it!” Your lip trembles. “I'll puke. It's not pretty. I'm talking projectile vomiting, blood, burning flesh, the works."

Sam makes a face, and bless his bleeding heart, he actually starts to cave. "We can't do it, Dean. It's too inhumane." 

Dean's mouth thins. "Well, I don't feel like collecting dog piss anyway." He glances at you. "You check out with Cas, so I'm fine letting you go. You really wanna help us catch this witch?"

You nod vigorously. 

"That settles it, then." Sam approaches you, and for the first time, you get a decent look at him up close… He's _at le_ast 6'4, towers over you and everyone else in this room, with broad-set shoulders. When he’s not wearing his sentimental look, his expression is fairly hard, tense, and in all honesty... he’s really hot.

His fingers begin to work on the rope, his jaw clenching as he works through his own knot. (Is it his knot? You hope it's his knot.) His fingers are warm and large against your wrist… really large. Like, really, _really_ large. Oh boy, you should stop salivating.

"Let's let her ride with us, then?" Sam asks as he pulls away the last of the rope, blissfully unaware of your thoughts. "Let her free?"

"Yeah, okay." 

Dean pulls you up unceremoniously, righting you on the bed. He gives you a once over, and then seems to resign himself to this new partnership:

"Well, Sammy, looks like we caught ourselves a little vixen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a weird fic, so let me know your thoughts & if you want to see more. <3


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